Of Smoke and Mirrors

Entry: 8th of February, 1855


-10ºC, silvery moonlight over the snowy landscape

The beginning of February has been as unforgivable as winter can be, for there is not a day that goes by without the land being covered by an everlasting coat of snow. Due to a series of circumstances, I find myself writing this piece in the main chamber of the Barrowynd Manor, in the quality of a self-appointed sentinel. But before leaning into further detail on why on earth am I sharing the room with my dear and flaky uncle Cecil, there are some loose ends that I should tend to. After what it was quite a vivacious dinner party back in my cozy London flat, Lizzy had finally revealed the bizarre events that have been haunting Uncle Cecil since his unexplainable collapse during the previous seminar on the subject of antediluvian artefacts. Having everything regarding this occurrence strike me as utterly suspicious, I have organized a university expedition to the Moors in Barrowynd, near my Uncle’s estate, under the pretext of an archeologic expedition.

It has now been 3 days since I have arrived, and every hour that I spend in this vicinity contributes to aggravate my suspicions even further. The “Devil’s Curse” as to abbreviate, is what has been depriving Uncle Cecil’s from his usual amiable self and keeping this household on edge. After reading about it myself I couldn’t help but feel apprehensive and sympathetic. There is something about this place that is definitely off… As my body has inevitably giving in to exhaustion, my night terrors are currently being replaced by awaking delusions. I am most probably on the verge of going mad, but I feel like I am being watched… She is keeping me under her sight… That hateful creature that resembles a girl! How could I have let her escape!? Heavens know how I thirst for a chance of putting this unresolved matter to an end! However, besides this wicked idiosyncrasy of mine I have been susceptible to other visions. The moon shines red and there is a creature lurking in the shadows of these astonishingly powerful magical lands. I cannot say for certain what it is, but every particle of my soul resonates to it. To make matters worse, I believe that Uncle Cecil is not being haunted by the curse alone. Something fishy is going in this house and it involves Mr. Ebenezer. Auntie is also behaving abnormally…

This is why I stand guard tonight. After the murder of the poor footman Tom in this very room, Uncle Cecil feels compelled to end this curse by giving up himself in such a fatalistic way. What a foolish and pathetic way of resolving such a matter! I will not stand idle by this. As the hours refuse to pass, I write in hopes of staying awake and distracting myself from my own fears within. It would be a lie if I said I am not afraid, in fact, I am as scared as ever. Only this time I feel like I can actually go through with this. Maybe… experience is finally catching up with me.

There is one last thing that I feel like I should add. A little ray of light to what has been such a heavy existence lately… A reference to Mr. Christopher, who’s engaging conversation, supporting and ravishing smile have suddenly gotten ahead of me on these couple of days. Even now, it gives me strength to smudges of ink.




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